


Obligations

by Persuade_me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Prince Gendry, Princess Arya Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persuade_me/pseuds/Persuade_me
Summary: Peace has been the default for centuries, but in modern day Westeros, alliances among the Seven Kingdoms are still formed through arranged marriages.Northern Princess Arya Stark had always hoped to avoid that fate, but having been called home from school due to a scandal, she’s horrified to learn of her own upcoming betrothal to the crown prince of the Stormlands.With only days to go before she meets her intended, Arya hatches a plan that just might get her out of the marriage. After all, as her mother insists, one of the most valuable things a royal bride can possess is her virginity.Inspired by a Tumblr post.





	1. Arya Starkers?

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure that whoever posted this AU idea was thinking of some super smutty one shot, but I just have a lot of feelings about Gendrya. So you're getting this instead.
> 
> It's completely finished, so it'll be updated regularly. I just thought it was a bit long for a one shot.

_ Arya Starkers? _

_ The youngest princess of Winterfell has reportedly been showing off a lot more than her crown lately. Unconfirmed rumors place the 20 year old royal at the women’s march in Braavos where she has spent most of her time for the last seven years, studying at the House of Black and White. The protests, which took place last month across both Westeros and Essos, were attended by millions of women, men, and children, and while the royal family might be willing to look the other way for some of Princess Arya’s youthful political leanings, it was her attire, or alleged lack thereof, that has tongues wagging. Pictures from the march have recently surfaced which show a young woman with a remarkable similarity to the princess. A pink wig might fool her casual subjects, but devoted royal watchers swear that the young woman in question is none other than Arya Stark, the famously private princess, wearing nothing but a pair of hot pants and a few pieces of strategically placed electrical tape and holding a sign reading “My body is not your property.”  _

_ Though rarely photographed in Winterfell, except for official palace events, due to the restrictions placed on the media by the monarchy, Arya Stark has been captured by the paparazzi several times during her years in Braavos. Now it appears that the media across the Narrow Sea have no compunctions about possibly exposing the royal assets for all to see. Could this young woman be Arya Stark? It’s still a mystery to most, but one has to wonder, if it’s not her, then why has the princess has been suddenly called home before the end of her school term? _


	2. Friday I

When the pictures had surfaced two days earlier, Arya knew there’d be consequences, but even so, she was surprised by the swiftness with which her mother had demanded her home. She’d only been back in the country for all of three hours, back in the palace for one. She’d barely even stepped through the door before being whisked straight to the queen.

It was there, in her parents’ chambers that Arya had sat for nearly an hour, listening to her mother’s fury about her complete lack of discretion, her disrespect for family values, her disregard for their public image, and the dishonor she’d brought on the name of Stark and the North. Catelyn’s anger had burst out in a flurry of words the moment Arya had appeared, and even now, she showed no signs of slowing. Privately, Arya was a little impressed her mother was still raging, although she’d tuned out most of what she was saying more than forty minutes ago. Idly, she wondered how much longer this was going to take, when something in her mother’s tone broke through.

“And you’re going to be charming and demure when you’re introduced, and I swear to the Seven, young lady, if you do not treat the prince with the respect and dignity his position warrants, I am going to send you to the Silent Sisters to spend the rest of your days in quiet contemplation of your behavior!”

Arya started, “Prince? Why am I meeting a prince?” she asked. 

“Have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

Arya shrugged. “Not really. I stopped listening just after you told me that all my ancestors would be ashamed of my wanton behavior. I’m pretty sure Aunt Lyanna would be proud of me for standing up for the rights of women everywhere, even if it was without a shirt on.”

“Arya Stark,” Catelyn hissed. “We have managed to discredit these photographs, but this is the last straw. You cannot continue to publicly stand against your father, your family, and your country. It is time for you to grow up and assume the role of a proper princess. And the first step to that is the prince.”

Arya stilled, dread blooming in her gut. “What prince?”

“King Robert’s son. The crown prince of the Stormlands. You will marry him, you will bear his children, and you will be the absolute picture of a devoted, dutiful queen.”

Arya stared up at her mother, horror struck. “Marry him?!”

“Yes, Arya. You are to marry him. You will stop your unruly behavior, and you will compose yourself as the princess that you are. Your marriage will serve to strengthen the ties between our countries, and your father and King Robert have both agreed on the arrangement.” 

“Arrangement? This isn’t the fifteenth century, mother! You can’t just expect me to go along with this.”

“I can, and I do.” Catelyn looked at her younger daughter and sighed heavily. “Arya, I know this isn’t what you want, but as a member of this family you seldom get to do anything you want. I didn’t initially want to marry your father, but over time we came to love each other deeply. Robb didn’t want to marry Jeyne, but look at how happy they are now. Sansa... well, Sansa might not be the best example as she’d been planning her wedding since she was six. I don’t think it even mattered who the groom was to her.” 

She crossed over to where Arya was sitting and knelt in front of her, placing her hands on Arya’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, sweetling, but this is going to happen whether you want it to or not. There will be an official state dinner on Monday night where you will be introduced, and the engagement will be announced at the end of next week.”

“Next week?! I’m supposed to get engaged to someone I’ve never even laid eyes on? I don’t even know his name!” Panic was beginning to flood through her. “And King Robert’s son? If his father’s reputation is anything to go by, he’ll be a drunken ass who can’t keep it in his pants. How you can do this to me!” Arya put her face in her hands and tried to stop the mixture of rage and devastation from spilling out.

“By all accounts, Prince Gendry is an honorable young man with none of his father’s proclivities for wine and women. He is said to be handsome and kind, and we could have made a much worse match for you. Besides, it is time for the Starks and Baratheons to be united. It was meant to happen years ago, but your aunt Lyanna...” Trailing off, Catelyn reached out and pulled Arya’s hands from her face, forcing her to look up at her mother. “Arya, do you have any idea how many proposals we’ve turned down over the years? We’ve been fielding offers for your hand since you were only two years old. Lord Frey has offered his son Elmar every year no matter how categorically your father refused.”

“But I’m only 20, mother,” Arya pleaded. “I haven’t even finished school yet. I’m not- I’m not ready. I want to travel and work and just be me for a while. Please, please don’t make me do this yet.”

Catelyn reached up and stroked Arya’s face. “Darling girl, you knew this was coming someday. You’ve always known what your responsibilities would be once you were of age, and even then we’ve waited. Anywhere else in the seven kingdoms and this would have happened two years ago. We will allow you to finish school, but not in Braavos. We never should have sent you there in the first place. We will arrange for you to complete your studies here in the palace, but the wedding _will_ take place within the year.” And from her mother’s expression, Arya knew there would be no argument. 

“Fine,” Arya spat out. “I’ll meet him. I’ll marry him. I’ll spread my legs and let him fill me with babies.”

“Arya! That is entirely inappropriate.”

“But yanking me out of school and selling me off is fine? All because of a few blurry snapshots that might or might not be me?”

At this, a look of apprehension crossed her mother’s face. “Arya...I need to ask you about something.” Catelyn stood and turned away from her daughter as if she couldn’t bear to face her. “I know that people in Braavos are much more...free with certain activities than the people here. I also know that you had a tendency to slip away from your security detail, and well, I need to know.”

Arya narrowed her eyebrows at her mother. She wasn’t quite sure what she was asking. “Need to know what exactly, mother?” 

“Well, your choice of attire has me concerned about other...choices you might have made. Did you make it a habit to exhibit your assets in Braavos?”

“Wait. Are you asking if I regularly made a habit of going topless?”

“Well, did you? You went out in public with barely anything covering yourself, and you think I’m not concerned?”

Arya sighed. “No, mother, I did not routinely ‘exhibit my assets’ as you’ve put it. I never even visited any of the many nude beaches in Essos no matter how much I wanted to because I knew how it would look. I went to the march like that as a protest. I wanted to stand up for something even if I couldn’t do it as myself, which I might add, is why I wore the wig. It’s not my fault that some obsessive fan found that photo!”

Catelyn turned back around and looked grimly at her daughter. Nodding, she said, “All right. But you still snuck out quite a lot. Did you keep yourself safe? Were you...careful?”

“Of course I was careful. What do you take me for? I always carried my dagger and mace, and I never went anywhere alone or with someone I didn’t trust.”

“Arya, I love you, but I know you. You can be reckless and wild, and I need to know if you were ever imprudent or irresponsible with regards to more...prurient manners.”

Arya was getting frustrated. Her mother was clearly digging for something specific. “Prurient? For gods’ sake, mother, just ask me what you want to know.”

“Your maidenhead, Arya! Do you still have it?”

Arya blinked. “My _what?_ ” This was about sex? “This isn’t the dark ages, mother. Whether or not I still have an untorn piece of flesh inside me shouldn’t matter to anyone except me. It’s no one’s business but mine.”

“But it is my business, Arya. A royal bride should never give anyone but her husband that gift, and if you go to the marriage bed already defiled, then Prince Gendry might call for an annulment and I can’t even begin to imagine the shame, let alone the scandal that would cause.”

Rage rose within her. “Defiled?! A gift?!” Arya was yelling. “Do you really think _Prince Gendry_ has never been with a woman? Oh, but it’s perfectly fine for him to go to the marriage bed defiled because he’s a man. It’s expected even. No one would consider him unworthy if he’d fucked a hundred girls a day! But because I’m a woman I have to be pure and innocent?” Arya stood and glared at her mother. “Not that it’s any of your business, but you have nothing to be concerned about. My virtue is intact. No man has ever breached my defenses. I am unbesmirched, undefiled, pure as the driven snow!” With that, she stormed from the room, ignoring her mother’s cries for her to return.

***

Arya was pacing in her room, raging about her mother’s archaic sense of propriety. “A virgin. As if that’s all I’m worth. No concern as to whether I’ll actually like the damn idiot or not, just whether he’ll be expecting an untouched bride.” She collapsed on her bed and screamed her frustrations into her pillows. She lay there, not moving for several minutes, considering her options. 

She could run. She could pack a backpack, sneak a stack of cash from the family vault, and head back to Braavos. She could survive on the run; she knew she could. But then, she would likely never see her family again, and as much as the idea of this marriage offended her, she couldn’t give up her family, nor could she disgrace the Stark name like that.

She could do nothing. She could stay in the palace and let her mother dress her in a gown while acting the perfect princess. She could let the rest of her life be dictated by circumstances she had no say in and just smile and curtsy while her future was planned without her.

Or she could take control of her life in the only way she could think of. She could sneak out of the palace, find a willing stranger, and give up the one thing her mother deemed vitally important to this arrangement. She’d never really considered her virginity as sacred, and if she’d had the opportunity, or met the right guy she might have lost it years ago, but her life had been entirely devoid of anyone appealing enough for her to do that. 

Sure, she’d had a few stolen kisses over the years, and her time in Braavos had brought about a couple groping sessions, but there’d never been anyone that she’d truly considered as being worth the effort. But now, with the threat of a looming engagement, it seemed possible that the one way out of this forced betrothal was to shed herself of her virginity. If she told this Prince Gendry that he would not have the honor of claiming hers, he just might break the engagement. 

Arya considered how best to go about finding someone to sleep with. It was now late Friday afternoon, and she had until Monday night. She supposed it would be easiest to just seduce some hapless palace servant, but she really didn’t want to be responsible for someone losing their job. 

She could download Tinder and swipe right on everyone, but that might take too much time. Besides, she might not be that attached to her virginity, but that didn’t mean she wanted to lose it to someone she hadn’t met in person before. 

Her best option, she thought, had to be to head down to Winter Town tonight and hit up a club or a bar. On a Friday night, she’d surely be able to find someone that wasn’t completely repulsive, and if she couldn’t find someone tonight, then she’d just try again the next day and the next. She may not be a great beauty like Sansa, but there had to be at least one man in Winter Town willing to sleep with her.

***

Freshly showered, shaved, and styled, she sat at her dressing table and considered her face. She tried to look at herself objectively, as a man might see her. Growing up, Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole might have called her “Arya horseface” but she knew that she’d grown into her looks. She may not be beautiful, but she wasn’t completely unattractive. She had clear skin, dark grey eyes, and a nice smile that someone could find intriguing.

Though Arya wasn’t usually one for a lot of makeup, she thought it might be a good idea to make more of an effort this time. Sighing, she pulled up a tutorial on her phone and attempted to follow along as a perky young woman demonstrated how to apply “full coverage glam makeup complete with perfect winged eyeliner.” She’d had to start over a few times, but once she was finished, Arya had to admit that while the heavy makeup wasn’t exactly her, she still looked nice. Nice enough for a one night stand anyway. 

She moved to her full length mirror and examined herself critically. She’d wanted to look appealing, but not desperate. Arya might be intending to sleep with a stranger, but she didn’t feel comfortable looking as if she did. Immediately dismissing the numerous designer cocktail dresses she’d been forced into over the years, she’d settled on a comfortable, but still attractive outfit - skinny jeans, a slightly revealing strappy red top, and a pair of sandals. She looked...good, cute even, but not beautiful, never beautiful. 

She knew she was insecure about her looks. It was something she had struggled with for years, and the fact that she had not inherited her beautiful mother’s height or hair or figure didn’t help. She was short, barely over five feet, with dark brown hair like her father’s and small breasts that rarely required a bra. Her small frame was strong and toned from years of physical activity, not soft and feminine like her sister’s. 

She couldn’t help but compare herself to Sansa, Sansa with her fiery red hair and the ability to always be the most beautiful, best dressed woman in the room, no matter the event. Even with her sister married and halfway across the continent, Arya still felt the shadow of her sister’s beauty. Her sister who was regularly featured in spreads in fashion blogs and magazines. Arya herself was rarely acknowledged in those types of things beyond a passing comment. It wasn’t that she minded being an afterthought to most of the country. In truth, she would have hated the attention that Sansa so readily accepted, but she had to admit that it did hurt, just a bit, to know that no one would ever look at her the way the world looked at her sister. 

Sighing, Arya pulled herself away from her thoughts and grabbed her favorite crossbody bag, stuffing it with a couple t-shirts, some extra underwear, and her favorite tennis shoes. If she was going to do the walk of shame the next morning, then she was damn well going to be comfortable.

***

Sneaking out of Winterfell Palace had gotten a lot easier over the years. As a child, she’d tried climbing out windows, crawling down drain pipes, and jumping garden walls. As an adult, all she needed was a pilfered key to the tradesmen’s entrance and a guard’s bathroom break. Within minutes, she was blocks away from the imposing structure and headed down the crowded sidewalks towards the heart of Winter Town. 

Arya had spent time in the town growing up, but she’d never been allowed to explore without her security detail, and even then, she’d been limited to places her mother had deemed acceptable, places with carved wood, brunch menus, and pretentious sounding cocktails. And when she’d left for Braavos seven years ago, she was far too young for whatever kind of nightlife Winter Town had. She had no clue where to start. 

Pulling out her phone, she was opening the maps app to search for nearby bars when it started buzzing, her mother’s name on the screen.

“Shit.” Arya really did not want to talk to her mother, but she knew her mother was nothing if not relentless. Ducking into a nearby doorway, she answered the call. “Hi, mom.”

“Arya Stark, what on earth are you doing in Winter Town?”

“Wha- How do you know where I am?” she demanded.

“Arya, do you really think that the royal guards can’t track your phone? Stay where you are. I’m sending a car.”

“NO!”

“Young lady, you need to come home right now. It is entirely inappropriate for you to be out there on your own. What would your father say?”

“Mom, I just- please, I need some time alone. Away from the palace. I need space. Please, don’t send a car,” Arya pleaded.

“No, Arya,” her mother’s voice was sharp. “Jory is heading out now. It’s time for you to take some responsibility for your life.”

“That’s what I’m doing, mom. I’m taking control.” Her mother started speaking, but Arya didn’t stop to listen. “I promise I’ll be back in time to meet your precious prince. I swear it by the old Gods, but I’m not coming home tonight.” And she hung up before her mother could protest. Quickly, she powered off her phone, removed the sim card, and buried them both deep in the bottom of her bag.

Arya knew she didn’t have much time before Jory showed up to drag her back to the palace. Stepping out of the sheltered doorway, she turned to run and immediately collided with a solid mass. Stumbling backwards, she felt herself falling when a pair of large hands grasped her arms and pulled her upright. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry.” Arya looked up at the man she’d just ran into, his bright blue eyes filled with concern and just a bit of embarrassment. “Are you all right?”

“No, sorry. Thanks. I’m fine,” she babbled. She had to get out of there. She pulled herself out of his grip and stepped around him. “I gotta go. Sorry. Thanks!” And she took off running, weaving through pedestrians as she went.

“Hey, wait!” She heard the man call out, but she didn’t stop. She had to get as far away as she could from where she’d been. She ran, turning down random streets, ducking into alleyways, and cutting through office buildings. Arya was in excellent physical shape, but tearing through the streets in jeans and sandals was not exactly how she had planned on spending her evening. 

When she finally slowed to a stop, she leaned against a nearby building to catch her breath. She had to be at least a mile from where she’d shut off her phone, but Arya had no idea exactly where that was. Looking around, she saw shops, offices, and restaurants, and across the street, she could see what looked like a community park, the top of a gazebo peeking over the trees, and the laughter and the screams of playing children drifting through the air. Crossing over, she followed the wrought iron fence until she came to an open gate and an ornate sign that read “Stark Gardens” with smaller letters underneath reading “Park closed from sunset to sunrise.” She groaned.

In Braavos, it was so easy for her to forget who she was. She had no royal responsibilities or official duties to worry about, just her studies and her friends. In Braavos, Arya wasn’t Princess Arya, she was just Arya. But now, being back at Winterfell, the confrontation with her mother, the bombshell of her forthcoming engagement, the desperate retreat through the city streets, and now this charming, unassuming, wooded park. Everything around her just confirmed the fact that she’d never be able to run away from who she was, never be able to escape her obligations. She was born a Stark of Winterfell, and the words of her mother’s house had been drilled into her since birth. “Family, duty, honor.” 

Stumbling into the park, she sank onto a nearby bench. Arya sat there, seeing nothing and no one, for she didn’t know how long until a hand on her shoulder jerked her out of her misery. Looking up, she was startled to realize how dark it had gotten. “Miss?” an older, uniformed woman was leaning next to her. “Miss, the park is closing. We’re locking the gates now. You’re going to need to leave.” 

Wordlessly, Arya grabbed her bag and stood. The woman peered at her, her face anxious. “Do you have somewhere to go, miss? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Arya replied. “I was just...brooding.” She smiled at the woman, glancing at her name tag. “Tell me, Nan. Is there anywhere around here a girl could get a drink?”

Nan looked thoughtful. “I’m not much for going out myself, but if you’re looking for a place to continue brooding, you might try Mott’s just over that way,” pointing back towards the entrance. “It’s pretty quiet, and people generally keep to themselves, but if you’re looking for company, I hear The Wall is a pretty lively place. I’m happily married, but if I was thirty years younger and unattached, that’d be the place I’d go. It’s just over there,” she gestured vaguely to the back of the park. 

“Thanks, Nan,” Arya replied. “Sorry to have been a bother.”

“No bother at all, miss.” Nan walked Arya to the entrance and pulled the heavy iron gates closed behind them. Locking them, she then turned to Arya, “Brooding or not, I hope you enjoy your evening.” And she turned, leaving Arya alone on the sidewalk.

***

The Wall was indeed lively, as Nan had put it. Music streamed out from the open door, and upon entering, Arya was assaulted by a cacophony of sound. The dimly lit, large, open space was lined with dozens of tables of chattering people. In the center of the room was a massive bar, crowded with people clamoring for drinks. Beyond that, Arya could see a dance floor filled with twisting bodies and flashing lights. The overall effect was sensory overload, and the further in she got, the less she was sure she could stand it. 

Turning back to the exit, she stopped dead when she saw an unmistakably undercover palace guard enter. She didn’t recognize him, but she did recognize the electronics dangling from his ear. She spun back around and plunged into the crowd. Pushing her way through the dance floor, she glanced back to see three more guards had joined the first and were now making their way into the crowded bar.

Panicking, Arya looked around desperately trying to find an escape, when she spotted a faintly illuminated exit sign at the side of the building. Relief flooded through her, and she shoved her way through the mob of people, only to stop short at the notice “Emergency Exit Only. Alarm Will Sound” written in bright red letters on the door.

She whirled back around, searching for the guards. Through the flashes of light, she could see them scanning the room, clearly looking for her, and she didn’t think she could get past them, even in this crowd.

“Hey,” a voice beside her said. “If it isn’t little miss hit and run.” Arya turned to see the man she’d plowed into earlier grinning down at her. “You ran away so quickly before, I didn’t get a chance to see if you were all right.” 

Arya opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The panic rising in her chest was overwhelming everything else. She turned back to the crowd, and to her horror saw one of the guards standing not twenty feet away, his back to her. 

“Hey, is everything all right?” the man asked, concern evident in his voice. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t take her eyes off the guard. The man stepped in front of her, blocking her view and forcing her to look up at him. His bright blue eyes looked unsettled. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked softly.

Arya leaned around him, trying to see where the guard was, but the man gently grasped her arms and turned them both around so her back was to the crowd. Arya could see his eyes scanning the crowd, and she could tell the exact moment he spotted the guards. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced down at her then back up. Nodding his chin towards the crowd, he asked quietly, “Are they here for you?”

Arya nodded. “Well, then. Let’s get out of here.” The man grabbed her hand and turned to push on the emergency door behind him. 

“No, wait! The alarm!” But it was too late, a high pitched siren pierced through the voices and the music. Arya twisted back to see a palace guard looking straight at her before she was pulled through the door and onto the street.


	3. Friday II

“Idiot!” She was furious. “They saw me! They never would have known I was there if you hadn’t opened that door.” 

“Well, what was I supposed to do? You were clearly terrified, and there was no other way out!” 

Ignoring her would be rescuer, Arya spun around looking for a place to hide. She knew the guards would be only moments behind her and she had to get out of sight. There, just down the block was the small park. She sprinted down the sidewalk, across the street and threw herself at the wrought iron fence. Arms stretched as high as she could reach, she jumped to grasp at the bar at the top of the fence. Once, twice, three times, but she simply wasn’t tall enough. Behind her, she heard a door slam into a wall and then voices shouting. The guards were on the street, and she was running out of time.

She tried to jump again, but froze at the feel of a pair of hands on her waist. Twisting, she saw the man with the bright blue eyes behind her. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“What does it look like? I’m helping.” He lifted her up so she could reach high enough to pull herself over the fence. Dropping to the ground, Arya moved quickly into the shadows and crouched down behind a bench. From her vantage point she could see the man against the fence. He had pulled out his phone and looked for all the world as if he’d been leaning there for ages. “Don’t move,” he said quietly. “They’re headed this way.”

“Oi!” Arya watched from the shadows as two guards approached the man. “You see a girl run past here?” 

“Who wants to know?” he asked roughly. Arya caught her breath. If they identified themselves as palace guards, he would probably turn her in.

“Never mind who. Did you see her?” the guard demanded. 

“Maybe. Maybe not,” the man said shrugging. “What’s it worth to you?”

A heavy weight settled deep in her chest. He’d meant to do this. He’d trapped her inside the locked fence, and now he was going to sell her out. She’d be back at the palace and under round the clock supervision before she knew it. She started crawling backwards, keeping her eyes on the guards.

“Here. Is this sufficient?” She watched as one of the guards hand several bills to the man who pocketed it. 

“That should do it. Thanks.” The man leaned back on the fence and went back to his phone without another word.

“Well? Where’d she go?” Both guards were now glaring at the man. Arya was backing away faster now, hoping she could manage the fence on her own.

“Well,” the man drawled. “Some girl came tearing around the corner there, and then she jumped in a taxi.” Arya froze. “Pretty sure I heard her say something about the airport.” She almost laughed out loud.

One of the guards swore loudly. “Man, I do not want to be the one to call this in.” They turned and crossed back over to the other side of the street. She watched as one of them made a phone call, and within minutes a car had picked them up and sped off down the street. 

“You there, hit and run?” The man had turned around and was peering through the fence, trying to find her in the darkness. Her chest now considerably lighter, she moved up out of the shadows and stepped in front of the man, finally getting a good look at him. He was tall, at least a foot taller than she. Tall, and powerfully built with broad shoulders and a physique that seemed to breathe strength. His face was startlingly handsome, she realized. His shockingly blue eyes were framed with stylishly tousled, thick, black hair. Studying him, Arya felt a sharp jolt of heat deep in her core, and suddenly she was reminded of exactly why she was out of the palace, running from guards..

“I’m here,” she said softly, looking up at him through the iron bars. “Thanks.”

“So, what was that all about?” he asked. “They weren’t police. Are you running from the mafia or something?”

Arya snorted. “Or something,” she replied. Her family was for life after all. “Seriously, though, I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

He grinned down at her sheepishly. “You might not have needed me if I hadn’t set off that alarm. Sorry about that.”

Arya laughed. “Eh, I think it turned out for the best. They think I’m headed to the airport now thanks to you.” She moved back and looked at the fence. “I’m still stuck in here though. I don’t think you can lift me out from there even though you are freakishly tall.”

He laughed. “I’m not freakishly tall. You’re just short.” He stepped back and stared thoughtfully at the fence. “You’re right though, I can’t,” and in seconds he was over the fence and standing next to her looking around. “Great place you’ve got here, hit and run. All these oak trees.” He gestured vaguely around him. “Nice, though. Nice oak trees. Very...leafy.” 

Arya laughed. “You should see my gazebo. It’s lovely this time of year.” 

The man held out his arm, “Lead the way, milady.”

She scoffed. “I’m not a lady.”

“Yeah, what kind of lady is on the run from the mafia anyway?” His eyes crinkling as he smiled down at her.

“The bad kind,” she said laughing.

He took a step closer, eyes trained on hers, an unreadable expression on his face. Arya inhaled sharply at his proximity. He was so close she could smell his soap, a clean, fresh, woodsy scent, and a strange kind of aching fear bloomed in her chest.

Flustered, she stepped back. “Well, now you’ve got me trapped in here. I can’t get over that fence without help.”

His face fell, and he immediately moved backwards, putting more distance between them. Arya felt an odd stab of relieved disappointment. “I didn’t- I mean- That’s not-,” he stammered. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. This looks bad. I dragged you out of that bar, threw you over a fence, and then climbed in after you knowing you can’t get out on your own. I swear, I was only trying to help.”

“It’s okay,” she said, quickly, wanting to reassure him. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing you of anything. Honestly. I just, this is not something I normally do.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Recruit strange men to protect you from nefarious mafia enforcers?”

Arya laughed. “No, not that.” She looked down at her hands. “Accept help,” she said softly. “I don’t normally accept help. Especially from people I don’t know.”

The man didn’t say anything for several moments. Arya looked up to find him regarding her thoughtfully. “Well, then. Maybe we should get to know each other. Would you like to have a drink with me?” He pulled the guard’s bills from his pockets and waved them around. “Mafia’s treat?”

****

Nan was right. Mott’s was quiet, and judging by the utter lack of interest anyone had shown when they had entered, no one was going to be taking a closer look at the young woman who just might resemble a member of the royal family. Arya made her way to a shadowy booth at the back of the bar, and seated herself facing the door while the blue eyed stranger ordered drinks. She doubted any more palace guards would be making an appearance, but she’d rather see them coming if they did.

As she waited, Arya contemplated the evening’s events. She cursed herself for not realizing her cell phone was a literal beacon to her location. She supposed she should be grateful that her mother was as anxious as she was. Had Catelyn simply waited ten minutes, Jory would have found Arya on the street, completely unaware, and hauled her back to the palace with minimal effort. As it was, she had managed to not only evade palace security, but somehow meet up with a perfect stranger who was now aiding and abetting her escape efforts.

Her gaze drifted over to where the man was speaking to the bartender. He was undeniably gorgeous. From a purely objective point of view, Arya could see that. His individual features - his tousled hair, his deep blue eyes, and his truly astonishing figure - were all, on their own, exceptionally attractive qualities. But together? She once heard Sansa refer to someone, an actor or singer or something of the sort, as “every young maiden’s dream.” Looking at this stranger now, all Arya can think is how Sansa’s description of some long forgotten celebrity crush suits this man to perfection. “Well, Stark,” she muttered to herself. “If you’re going to do something, do it right.”

He twisted his head around to glance back at her, his deep blue eyes sparkling, and she flushed, instantly burning from within. A man like that likely had no shortage of willing companions. Arya could see them, gliding past in her mind’s eye, tall, elegant creatures with long legs and graceful curves, each more beautiful than the next and not one of them even a little like her. Doubt flooded through her, and she tore her eyes away from him. 

She shouldn’t be here, here in this grubby little hole in the wall bar. Shouldn’t be waiting on a man who could simply point at any number of women, and likely quite a few men. Shouldn’t be comparing herself to an imaginary parade of his former conquests. Shouldn’t be entertaining the possibility of joining their ranks.

She needed to leave. Find another bar, another club, another mass of writhing bodies to work her way through until she’s propositioned by someone so thoroughly average that even she’s considered a viable option. 

Sliding out of the booth, Arya turned to stand and for the second time that day, collided with a wall of muscle, and just as before, he reached out as she staggered backwards into the edge of the table. But this time, this time he didn’t let go. He stood motionless, hands wrapped firmly around her arms, her skin scorching from where they met. Heart pounding, Arya slowly looked up at the stranger’s face. He was gazing down at her so intensely that her breath stuttered, and she was startled to see that he appeared to be breathing heavily as well.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked softly, a strange look on his face.

Arya didn’t move. “I- I think I should go,” she whispered. 

“Don’t,” he breathed. “Don’t go. Stay. Stay with me. Please?” There was a quiet note of desperation in his voice, and his eyes flickered over hers, silently pleading with her. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. Arya could hear nothing but her own heartbeat, feel nothing but the heat of his hands, see nothing but the blue of his eyes. Swallowing hard, she nodded, but she still didn’t move. She was caught, in his arms, in his gaze. She felt his hands tighten slightly around her and his thumbs began to move, stroking her skin softly. Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed in deeply.

“Here you go,” a harsh voice cut through the stillness, and Arya’s eyes flew open. A waiter stood next to them, holding a tray with two bottles and a large basket of fries. The stranger dropped his hands from her arms and stepped back, moving over to slide into the booth. 

Dazed, Arya shook her head, trying to clear it. She turned to the waiter, “Restroom?” she asked. He gestured vaguely behind him, and she headed off without a backwards glance.

***

Arya stared gloomily at her reflection. This is what he had seen. A complete and utter mess - smeared makeup, tangled hair, flushed face. He’d probably taken one look at her and felt so sorry for the bedraggled little urchin that he couldn’t help but try to rescue her.

And yet.

The look on his face hadn’t been one of pity. If she didn’t know better, she would have almost called it desire. 

Sighing, Arya dug a hairbrush out of her bag. Inexplicably, she had managed to hang onto it despite her desperate trip through the city streets. She attacked her hair, yanking and pulling the tangles until finally drawing it up into a messy ponytail. Next, she brought out a small toiletry bag and wiped away the layers of makeup. Once her face was bare, she reapplied a thin layer of powder and a quick swipe of lip gloss. She scrutinized her face, sighing. This was her - plain and completely ordinary, not the girl with the perfect cat-eye or the artfully curled hair. She wasn’t elegant or beautiful. She was just Arya, and while she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, she knew that if she was going back to rejoin the stranger, she wanted to do it as herself as much as she was able.

Exiting the restroom, she marched across the bar to the booth where the blue-eyed man sat playing with his phone. “So,” she said. “Let’s get a few things out of the way.” 

The stranger looked up as she slid in the seat across from him and grinned at her. “Yeah?” he asked. “Does this mean you’re staying?”

“For now.” 

He beamed at her, and her stomach flipped. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. “I can’t keep calling you hit and run.”

Arya opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning slightly. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. Giving her name might be a bad idea. “Call me...Nym,” she replied.

He’d picked up on her hesitation. “Is that your name?” he asked. 

“No,” she said slowly, “but that’s what you can call me. What should I call you?”

He stared at her for a moment, an odd expression crossing his face. “Call me Bull.”

“Is that _your_ name?”

“No,” he said shortly, “but that’s what you can call me.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” she replied. “I’m not telling you my name, you’re not telling me your name.” She reached out for her beer and took a sip. “Why Bull?” she asked curiously.

He chuckled. “I wasn’t very graceful as a child, always blundering about and knocking things over. You know, like a bull in a china shop. I was also ridiculously stubborn. My mother pretty much gave up on making me eat asparagus after she once tried to keep me at the table until I ate them.”

“And did you? Eat them, I mean?”

“Nope,” he said grinning. “I fell asleep at the table, and when I woke up, she tried to warm them up and serve them for breakfast, and then again for lunch and dinner. I sat there all day, and when she saw I wasn’t budging, she just gave up. I never had to eat asparagus again. Of course, now I actually like it, which drives her nuts.”

Arya laughed and reached out for the basket of fries. “Thanks for getting these, by the way. I didn’t realize that I haven’t actually eaten much today until now.” 

“Too busy running from the mafia for proper nutrition?” he asked, his eyes crinkling again as he smiled. “What about you? Why Nym?”

“Short for Nymeria.”

“Nymeria?” he looked thoughtful. “Wasn’t she a Dornish queen?”

“She wasn’t just a queen. She was _the_ queen. She was originally from Essos, and her people and lands were conquered. But instead of just surrendering and living under oppression, she took all the survivors and sailed with 10,000 ships to Dorne. Once she arrived, she married a local king and together they united all of Dorne into the country it is today.”

“You admire her,” he stated. 

“I do, very much,” she admitted. “It’s because of her that Dorne allows women to inherit the throne. I think it’s a crock of shit that the rest of the seven kingdoms still require a dick to rule. As if possessing a vagina makes one incapable of rational thought or judgment. Plenty of women are perfectly suited to rule, perhaps even better suited than a younger brother, but they’re automatically disqualified because of their gender.”

Bull blinked. “It is a bit ridiculous when you put it that way,” he mused. “Especially considering…” he trailed off. 

“Considering what?” she asked. 

He took a long sip of his beer, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “So, I have two older sisters, right? And they’re both scary smart and capable and determined and no matter what, they’re good at whatever they do. But…” he faltered.

She waited a moment for him to continue, but he didn’t seem to know what to say. “But what?” she prompted.

“But despite all that, I’m the one who’s going to have to take over for my dad when he...retires. I don’t really want to, but that’s what I was raised to do.” Bull reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, either one of them, or even my younger brother would do a way better job than I ever could, and even now, they do a lot of the work involved in running the co- um, the corporation, but tradition dictates that my father passes it off to me, even if I’m going to do a crap job at it.” He suddenly looked uncomfortable, as if he’d said too much. “Sorry. That was kind of a lot of information to dump on a complete stranger.”

Arya felt a wave of empathy for him. She knew perfectly well how heavy the burden of tradition could be. Impulsively, she reached out and grabbed the hand that was resting on the table. “I get it,” she said, squeezing gently. “Sometimes it’s a lot easier to talk to someone you don’t really know.” She paused. “For what it’s worth, I understand where you’re coming from. I mean, I’m not being groomed to take over the family business or anything, but still.” She sat silently for a moment, thinking of the future that was already decided for her. “My family has a lot of...expectations, and most of my life has already been planned for me. Where I’m going to live, what I’m going to do, who I’m-” she stopped abruptly. This was getting a little too personal. “It’s just. I get it. Family obligations suck, and most of the time you can’t do anything about it.” 

Belatedly, she realized she was still holding his hand and started to pull it back, but he reached out quickly, halting her movement. “Hey, Nym,” he said softly. “Thanks for hearing me.” Tilting her head, she looked at him quizzically. “A lot of people listen,” he clarified, “but they don’t hear what you say.”

A weighty silence fell over them, and he pulled his hand away from her wrist. Arya felt a bit embarrassed at having revealed so much to a stranger, and she sensed that Bull might be having similar thoughts. She cast around for something to lighten the conversation.

“So, are you from around here?” she asked.

He looked relieved at the change of subject. “No, I’m just in town for a week or so.” Frowning slightly, he continued. “I had to fly up to handle some of those family obligations. My family’s joining me next week, but I wanted a few days alone before I had to deal with everything.” 

“Where are you from then?”

“Down south,” he said. “Uh, the Stormlands. What about you?”

“I grew up here, Winterf- Town born and bred. I’ve been away for a while though. School.”

“What’d you study?”

“Mathematics and History. You?”

“Mechanical Engineering.”

And so it went. 

***

“Favorite movie?”

“The Night King.”

“I love that one! When she drops the dagger, and then BOOM. Amazing.”

***

She feels his foot touching hers under the table.

***

“Ugh, you actually put pineapple on your pizza? I can’t believe I’m letting myself be seen in public with you.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that pineapple on pizza is a Dornish delicacy. I bet Queen Nymeria loved it.”

***

She leaves her hand resting next to the almost empty basket of fries. His fingertips graze against hers. Neither of them move

***

“Best concert you’ve ever been to?”

“Ooh. Tough one. Either Brave Companions or Brotherhood without Banners.”

“I saw Brotherhood once. Thoros set Beric’s guitar on fire.”

“Yeah, he does that a lot. Their guitar budget must be ridiculous.”

***

He scoots forward, his knee pushing gently against the inside of her leg. She shifts slightly so she can press back.

***

“Wait. You watch Real Housewives of Westeros?”

“ _NO!_ My sisters do.”

“Cersei’s the worst, isn’t she?”

“Not as bad as her dumbass son, though.”

***

Her fingers stretch, tangling with his, his thumb brushing gently over her wrist.

***

“If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?”

“Oh, gods. Do I have to choose? I _want_ to see everything, but I really want to backpack across Essos.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Obligations.”

***

She leans back, propping her foot on the seat next to him. His hand wraps around her calf, pulling it flush against his thigh.

***

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	4. Saturday

She woke in a haze, sunlight streaming across her face. Groaning, Arya rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. 

Except that wasn’t her pillow. It was far too firm to be her pillow.  _ Oh gods. _

She lifted her head and let her gaze travel around her, taking it all in. Her shirt and bra, crumpled in a heap by the door. Her jeans, completely inside out. Her panties,  _ oh,  _ dangling off a crooked lampshade.

_ Oh gods. _

And in a rush, it all came flooding back. Her mother’s announcement, the rush through the city, the blue-eyed stranger. 

And then.  _ Oh. Oh.  _ His lips. His hands. They’d barely stumbled out of Mott’s, and he’d had her back pressed against the wall, his mouth on hers, hands gripping her hips. And then somehow they were here, desperately clutching one another and falling together like she’d never expected.

The memories poured over her. His lips on hers, on her neck, on her chest, and then down, down, down. She flushed scarlet at the recollection. She’d thought she’d never feel anything as incredible as his head between her legs until he was moving inside her, twice, overwhelming her with a burning heat unlike anything she’d ever experienced. And then there was the way he’d looked at her, almost like awe.

She lay there, face down on the bed, perfectly still, lost in thought and in the ghost of his touch she could still feel blazing against her skin. 

Dimly, she began to register sounds coming from beyond the bedroom and realized he must be out there. Suddenly, she was unsure of everything. She’d done what she set out to do, but it hadn’t quite gone the way she’d assumed it would. She’d planned on nothing more than a quick fuck from an anonymous stranger, but the night before had been...unimaginably good. 

And now, she wasn’t sure what to do. The physical connection between them was undeniable, but she hadn’t been expecting to like him so very much. They’d sat in Mott’s for hours, talking about nothing and everything, as they inched towards each other. And then later, during the flurry of tangled limbs, he’d gazed at her so intently that she could scarcely breathe from the weight of it.

Arya hadn’t expected to  _ feel _ , and now she wasn’t sure if she would have been better off with a quick fuck from an anonymous stranger. Sighing, she got out of bed and looked at her scattered clothes. She knew the wisest choice right now would be to get dressed and make a run for it, but instead, she recklessly grabbed the plain white button up Bull had worn the night before and pulled it over her naked form.

Leaving the bedroom, Arya padded silently down the hallway, but stopped short at the sight of the shirtless man moving about the small kitchen. His light blue sleep pants sat low on his hips, exposing his broadly muscled chest, and her stomach clenched at the memory of how it had felt pressed against hers.

She stood for a moment, taking in the scene in front of her. He was pulling dishes out of the cabinet and appeared to have been up for quite a while. She could smell coffee, and on the table was a jug of milk and a carton of orange juice. The stove held a bowl of fresh fruit, a platter of pancakes, a bowl of scrambled eggs, and a plate of bacon, and on the counter, Arya could see a package of blueberry muffins, a stack of toast, and a variety of jams. 

“Good morning,” she said softly as she stepped into the kitchen. Bull wheeled around at the sound of her voice, and she could see his eyes darken as he took in the sight of her wearing nothing but his shirt. He took a step towards her, arms reaching out, but then stopped, a look of uncertainty crossing his face.

“Morning, Nym” he replied. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did. You?”

He gave a quick nod and turned back to the stove. “I didn’t know what you’d like for breakfast.”

She laughed. “So you made everything?”

Bull glanced back at her quickly, looking sheepish. “It’s a bit much, I know.”

“No, it’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you.” She moved over to the stove, picked up a plate, and served herself a little bit of everything before sitting down at the small kitchen table to eat. “Do you normally make breakfast for your one night stands?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

He stiffened, and it was a moment before he spoke. “I don’t normally have one night stands,” he replied quietly.

Arya didn’t know how to respond to that. 

“Did you-” he started to speak, but cut himself off. Arya heard him take a deep breath as though steeling himself. “Last night, you didn’t say...I didn’t know that you never…” he trailed off uncertainly.

There’d been a moment, right as he pushed inside her, when she knew he’d felt it and his eyes widened with sudden realization. He’d started to pull back, but she’d wrapped her legs around him and tugged his body closer, reaching up to kiss him as she did. He’d hesitated only half a moment before snaking one arm around her waist and tilting her hips up as he buried himself deep within her.

“Look,” she said. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if you would even be able to tell. I mean, I was practically raised in the saddle, and I know that can…” She paused. “Would it have made a difference?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, turning back to face her. “Maybe? I mean, if I’d known I would have tried to make it, I don’t know, more special? Better?”

Arya snorted at this. “I might not have anything to compare it to, but I don’t think you could have made it any better if you tried.”

He was silent for a moment. “Really?” he asked, smirking slightly.

“Yeah,” she said softly, feeling oddly exposed. “Last night was...pretty much perfect. So thank you for that.”

“Any time,” he replied, flushing the instant the words left his mouth. “I mean, not that we’re going to do it again or anything. Not that I wouldn’t want to! I’d love to, I just wouldn’t expect- You know what? I’m just going to stop talking now.” He turned back to the stove to serve himself breakfast, and Arya could see the flush spreading down the back of his neck. She found it strangely endearing, and she wondered how warm it would feel beneath her fingers. 

Face still scarlet, Bull moved to sit across from her at the table and began to eat. They sat in silence for several minutes as they both ate, looking everywhere but at each other.

Arya’s eyes roamed around the small apartment. It was tastefully, but blandly decorated. Generic landscapes hung on the walls, and the furniture looked straight out of a showroom. “So, what is this place?” she asked. “One of those short term rentals?”

“Yeah, I don’t like hotels,” he replied. “Too many people in and out of your space - making your bed, changing your towels. Here I don’t have to worry about some chambermaid accidentally barging in on me in the shower. Plus, they have a grocery service so I can just feed myself instead of eating out constantly.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little self-conscious. “I don’t really like other people all that much,” he confessed.

“Oh.” She frowned. “Wait. But then why were you at The Wall? That place was crawling with other people.”

“Uh.” He looked mortified. “Because of you?”

“Me?” Whatever she had been expecting, it definitely wasn’t that.

“Oh, gods, that sounds bad, doesn’t it? It’s just. I was walking back here, and you were there, and all beautiful, and I saw you go in, and you ran off earlier, and I just wanted to see if you were okay, and then you obviously weren’t okay, and then you said you’d have a drink with me, and now I’m talking too much again.” He looked stricken. “Sorry. Sometimes, I tend to just say whatever pops into my head without really thinking about it.”

Exactly one word had registered with her. 

“Beautiful?” she asked uncertainly.

“Well, yeah,” he said, as though it’s not even a question.

“But I’m not,” she argued.

“Not what?”

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

He stared at her, an utterly perplexed look on his face. “Yes. You are.” As if that settled it.

She shook her head slightly, unable to speak.

Arya watched as his face morphed from bewilderment to realization, and then he gazed at her with an unbelievable expression of tenderness. He got up from his seat and moved to kneel down beside her, turning her to face him. “Nym,” he said softly, “you are more than beautiful. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.”

A warmth spread through her, and she could hear the alarm bells in her head screaming  _ this is dangerous _ . Gazing at him, a sudden awareness rushed through her,  _ this man could break her _ . Break her beyond repair if she let him.

Shaking the thought away, she grinned at him. “You’re just saying that to get in my pants again.”

Smirking, he leaned in to whisper against her ear, “Is it working?”

***

They hadn’t made it to the bed. They didn’t even make it to the couch. If it hadn’t been for the cold, hard tile at her back, Arya thought she would have burned to ash from the heat of him. 

After, both lying breathless on the floor, he turned to look at her. “What things?” he asked.

She rolled on her side to face him. “What?”

“Last night, when you came back to the table, you said there were some things you wanted to get out of the way. What things?” he repeated.

She stared at him a moment, struggling to remember anything but the feel of his hands on her. “Oh. Yeah.” She sat up and pulled his shirt back on, feeling that being completely naked was a poor choice for what she was about to say. “I really should have said all this last night, before… Well, before.”

“Hang on.” Bull pulled on his pants, and sat up to face her. He looked at her expectantly, “Go ahead.”

“This,” she gestured vaguely between them, “has been…” She flushed.

“Yeah, it has, hasn’t it?”

“But this can’t- I can’t- We can’t-” She struggled to find the words, but when she looked at him, she recognized the expression on his face. She knew her face probably looked identical. A wistful sort of knowing sadness was plainly written across it. 

“I know,” he said. “I told you I don’t do one night stands, and that wasn’t a line. I’ve never taken anyone home from a bar before last night,” he confessed. “The truth is, that last night was probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. My life doesn’t allow me to be selfish very often, but when I saw you… I’ve never wanted anything in my life more than I wanted you.”

Arya was speechless.

“And this can’t go anywhere,” he continued, “because of my life and its obligations, and I’m sorry for not being honest, but-”

“Don’t be,” she cut across him. “I chose to leave that bar with you knowing full well what it meant. I had no expectations from you beyond last night.” She paused, wanting him to understand. “You’re not the only one with obligations, you know. I told you that my future has already been decided for me. Last night, I made a choice, and I don’t regret that choice. At all.”

They sat in silence for several moments, when Bull suddenly started laughing. 

“What?”

“It’s just, aren’t one night stands supposed to be completely casual? I mean, I don’t even know your real name, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t had a conversation with anyone like this in years.”

Arya let out a small huff of laughter. “Me neither. Look at us. With all our obligations, and we can’t even do one night stands properly.” An idea suddenly struck her, and she couldn’t decide if it was the best idea she’d ever had or the worst. She looked at him calculatingly.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re thinking of something.”

“Well,” she said slowly. “We’re both adults, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we’re enjoying each other’s company, right?”

“Gods, yes.”

“You said you had a couple days to yourself, didn’t you?”

A grin slowly spread across his face. “I did at that.”

“As it happens,” she said carefully, “I also have a little time before I’m...needed elsewhere, and I was thinking that as two consenting adults who don’t have anywhere particular to be for the next few days…” she trailed off suggestively.

“That we could spend those days making use of every solid surface in this apartment?” he asked hopefully.

“That was the general idea, yes.” She grinned wolfishly at him.

He was already reaching for her. “I think we can manage that.”

***

They spend the day wrapped around each other, alternating between quiet conversation and much less quiet endeavors.

***

“Do you mind if I use your shower? I really need one.”

“I think you smell nice.”

“You don’t. You stink.”

“Then maybe I should join you.”

***

She kisses him frantically in the shower, leg hitched around his waist, his hands gripped tightly over her ass.

***

“Movies always get archery wrong. See how he’s holding the bow? He’d cut his fingers off if he was really shooting like that.”

“You shoot?”

“Yeah, I fence too, after a fashion. Don’t get me started on how badly choreographed these fights are.”

“So, you can ride a horse, shoot a bow, and wield a sword. You would have made quite a badass warrior, you know.”

“What would you have done?”

“I’d make your swords. I actually do know how.”

“No shit? That’s pretty amazing.”

***

He kisses her lazily on the couch, the movie playing in the background all but forgotten as his hands roam up and down her back.

***

“What do you want for lunch?”

“Don’t be stupid. Let me get lunch. Do you have any takeout menus?”

***

She kisses him playfully from the kitchen counter, and their food grows cold as he drops to his knees in front of her, her hands tangled in his thick black hair.

***

“We should take a walk. Get some fresh air.”

“You sure it’s safe? No mafia thugs lurking in alleys?”

“I think we can risk it.”

***

He kisses her slowly in the gazebo, holding her close as they spin to music no one else can hear.

***

“Shit! I didn’t know it was going to rain!”

“How far is it back to your place?”

“It’s far enough. We’re going to get soaked.”

“Guess we’ll have to get rid of these wet clothes then.”

***

She kisses him hard against the door, until he lifts her up and spins her around, her back slamming into the wood and his lips on her neck as the puddle beneath them spreads.

***

“Are you asleep?”

“Mmm.”

“We both need a nap. Here, put your arms around my neck.”

***

He kisses her sleepily in the bed, cradling her in his arms. Fleetingly, she thinks how utterly content she feels as she drifts off.

***

When she woke, Bull was still asleep. She was sprawled across his chest, and he had one arm tight around her torso, trapping her against him. Lifting her head slightly, Arya gazed up at the sleeping man beneath her and studied him closely. She’d never really wanted a man before, not the way she wanted him. She’d never craved another’s touch, her own fingers itching to reach out and map every inch of him. 

She’d never met anyone quite like him either, but it wouldn’t do to dwell on that. Brushing away the memory of the glow that filled her heart at the way he looked at her, she pushed herself up and straddled him. His eyes flew open, and laughing, she leaned down to capture his mouth with hers. 

***

Eventually, they managed to pull themselves out of bed and into the kitchen to make dinner. Together, they worked on putting together a simple pasta dish, and as they moved around each other chopping vegetables, boiling water, and setting the table, Arya had a brief vision of many similar evenings before immediately banishing that thought. Entertaining even a fantasy of a future with him was foolish.

Looking for something to say, she remembered a comment he had made earlier. “Tell me, how in this day and age, does one learn to forge swords?”

“It’s a funny story, really,” he said. “When I was about eight, I went with my dad for a visit to one of those reenactment villages. You know, where they have people in historically accurate clothing demonstrating historically accurate things and talking about historically accurate events? Things that are all absolutely thrilling for an eight year old. I was bored out of my mind, and to make things worse, I wasn’t allowed to actually do anything. There were loads of other kids running around, playing games, and just having fun, but my dad was there for work, and he expected me to stay with him the entire time. There were all these different buildings- stables and workshops and houses, and all these demonstrations that you could try, but he wouldn’t let me do any of them.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“Not at all,” he agreed. “Later, my dad was wrapped up in some work stuff, and I managed to sneak away. I ended up in the forge watching the blacksmith work for hours, and I was fascinated. It was amazing to see how he could create something from just a plain piece of metal. He probably shouldn’t have, but he let me try to hammer out a few nails. They weren’t very good, but I was so proud of what I’d done.” He paused, smiling. 

“By this time of course, my father had realized I’d vanished, and they were searching everywhere for me. The blacksmith hadn’t realized who- hadn’t realized anyone was looking for me, and when they finally found me, my father was angry, angrier than I’d ever seen him. I was so afraid that the blacksmith was going to get in trouble for letting me stay, that I immediately started yelling that it was all my fault and that he didn’t do anything wrong and that I’d never had more fun in my life so he couldn’t be mad at the blacksmith.”

He laughed. “I think my outburst surprised my dad, because he just bundled me out of there without another word. But later, he asked me about it, and I showed him the nails I’d made. I think he could see how proud I was, because he ended up arranging a place for me to learn how to smith.” 

He paused, frowning. “My dad was not the best dad, but I’ve always thought that was the best thing he ever did for me. It gave me an escape, from my life and my obligations, and later it gave me an outlet for my anger.” He looked at her, embarrassment creeping across his face. “I had...have anger issues. Hardly at all now, but as a teen, I was an angry little shit, and if it hadn’t been for being able to hammer my rage out on an anvil, I’m not sure I would have survived it. I spent a lot of time in my forge beating the crap out of things. It helped a lot.”

Arya looked at him thoughtfully. “I’m glad you had that. I’m glad it helped.” She let her eyes wander down to his arms. “Helped with other things too,” she said and reached out to trail her fingers over his muscles and was pleased when he wrapped those arms around her and pulled her close for a kiss.

“Mmmm. Food first, okay?” she murmured. “We shouldn’t let a second meal get cold.”

Reluctantly, he released her. “After, though.”

“After,” she agreed grinning.

As they ate, they chatted idly, but she could see that he had something on his mind. His blue eyes lingered on her with a slight look of concern.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t want to pry, but can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked. “Last night, those men. Do you need help at all?”

She set down her fork and considered him. She didn’t want to say too much, but she didn’t want him to worry either. 

“I...did something I shouldn’t have. Nothing illegal or anything,” she rushed to assure him. “But I do have to go back and make it right. I’m just...not ready to go back yet, which is why I ran”

“But when you go back, are you going to be okay? They’re not going to hurt you?” He reached over to grasp her hand, and the visible unease on his face twisted through her. 

“No,” she said quietly. “They’re not going to hurt me. I promise.”

Bull didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he didn’t say anything else, just stroked the back of her hand. Arya was gratified by his concern, but something about the way he was looking at her unsettled her. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to stop immediately or keep looking at her like that forever, and she didn’t know what to do with that. She pushed away her uncertainty and smirked at him.

“They won’t hurt me, but you can. If you want to. I promise I won’t break.” 

His eyes darkened as the implication of her words hit him, and within seconds, he’d yanked her roughly from her chair and had her bent over the table, his hands knotted in her hair and his teeth on her neck. 

***

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, collapsing against her.

“Holy fuck,” she echoed. She was boneless, floating, delirious.

Neither of them moved for quite a while, but gradually she began to feel the weight of him on her back. She shifted, and he pulled himself off her, picked her up, and carried her to the couch. 

Lying back, she looked up at him through half open eyes. “Is it always like this?”

“What?”

“Sex. Is it always this...spectacular?”

Picking up her legs, he moved to sit next to her, holding her feet in his lap. “Not in my experience, no,” he replied.

“But you do have experience.”

He flushed. “A bit.”

“How much is a bit?” she asked curiously. “I mean, how many girls have you been with?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, just indistinct stammers.

“One? Two? Twenty?”

“I didn’t keep count!” he said indignantly.

She leaned up on her elbows and fixed him with a penetrating look. “Yes, you did.”

He sighed. “Three,” he admitted.

That genuinely surprised her. He was so very attractive, she was certain he hadn’t been without options. “That’s a lot less than I would have expected,” she told him honestly.

He was silent for a moment. “My dad,” he said quietly. “was not the best example of what a man should be. He drinks, he has a wicked temper, he sleeps around on my mom. A lot.” He paused. “Years ago, he had a...disappointment, and he never quite recovered. So he copes by drowning himself in booze and women.” He turned his face away from her. “I don’t want to spend my life in a drunken haze, fucking anything that moves. I don’t want to be him,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Sitting up, she grabbed his head and turned him to face her. “Hey,” she said, looking straight into his eyes, “you are a good man.”

He tugged her into his lap and leaned his head on her shoulder. “I try to be,” he whispered. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer.

***

They’d sat quietly wrapped around one another for a long while before she started yawning. “Time for bed, I think,” he murmured and carried her down the hall to lay her gently in the bed. Crawling in beside her, he settled in and tucked her against his chest, holding her tight as they both fell asleep.


	5. Sunday

She woke to the feel of him, pressing hard against her stomach. It’s a curious thing, she thought, so very fragile at times, but also solid and strong. Despite the truly obscene amount of time they’d spent naked the day before, she hadn’t really touched him there, and she was suddenly very interested to know what he felt like. Snaking her hand into his pants, she wrapped her fingers around him and gave an experimental squeeze.

“Mmm. What are you doing?” he asked sleepily.

“Exploring,” she replied, “but I don’t exactly know how to get where I’m trying to go.”

“I can show you the way,” he said, moving his hand down overtop of hers.

***

Breakfast was much simpler than the previous morning, just fruit and cereal. She ate perched on the kitchen counter, thinking about the day ahead. She had one more day with him. One more day before she had to return to Winterfell and promise to marry a stranger, but she wasn’t going to think about that. Not today. Today, she was going to soak up every last minute of freedom with him by her side, and she knew exactly where she wanted to go.

“Bull?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have a car?”

He looked up from his bowl. “I have a rental. Why? Is there somewhere you wanted to go?”

“I have something I’d like to show you,” she replied. “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be.”

He stood and moved to stand between her knees, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his forehead against hers. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be today than with you.”

Closing her eyes, Arya breathed in deeply and took a moment to savor him before tilting her face up to kiss him gently. “Good,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Because we’re spending the day in one of my favorite places in the North.” 

He leaned down to trail his lips down her neck. “I suppose that will require clothes then.”

She laughed as he lifted her off the counter and started walking them down the hall. “Not just yet.”

“Good,” he growled, and her back hit the wall.

***

She’d insisted on driving, and he hadn’t argued. He hadn’t questioned her when she instructed him to pack enough food for the day or told him what to wear. He hadn’t blinked when she grabbed a couple thick blankets from the linen closet, just stuffed them inside a backpack along with the food and several water bottles. 

He did, however, whisper, “Today?” when he watched as she carefully gathered all her things and packed them inside her bag. 

Not meeting his eyes, she shook her head. “Not today,” she murmured. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, his voice just a little hollow.

***

They’d been driving north on the Kingsroad for close to an hour before he finally asked her where they were going. 

“The Wolfswood,” she replied, glancing over at him.

The vast forest that bordered Winter Town and stretched far across the North had been a fixture in her childhood. Visible from Winterfell Palace, Arya had spent many evenings staring out a window, imagining herself escaping into the trees and living there, like Wenda the White Fawn. While the vast majority of the Wolfswood was open to anyone who wished to visit, a small section that adjoined the Winterfell grounds was considered the property of the crown, and she had run wild there when she was younger.

He looked confused. “Haven’t we been driving through that this entire time?”

“Well, yes, but the Wolfswood is enormous, and where we’re going is the best part.”

“And what part is that?”

“You’ll see. We’re almost there now. Although, we are going to have a bit of a hike. I hope that’s alright with you.”

The forest on either side of the road started to thin and small cabins began to be visible through the trees. Up ahead, a single traffic light blinked red.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“You know, I don’t actually know the name of the village. We just called it camp town.”

She turned at the light and drove past a few small businesses - a diner, a dusty antique shop, a hair salon - to pull into a tiny parking lot nestled between a tattoo parlor and a general store. At the back of the lot, a faded sign marked “Trailhead” pointed to the woods.

“This isn’t a difficult trail,” she told him. “It’s pretty flat and mostly a straight shot through the forest, but it’ll still take us a couple hours to get there.”

“And where, exactly, is there?” he asked smiling.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the trail. “Sanctuary.”

***

It should have taken them two hours, but in the end it took them almost three, arriving with twigs in his hair and dirt on her knees. It was early afternoon when they broke through the woods and into the large clearing. In the center of the grass was a stone tower set on a slight hill, stretching high over the tops of the trees. At the far end was a small pool of water, steam rising gently off it into mist. 

“We used to come camping here,” she said. “Usually it was me and my brothers and our dad. Most of the time, our cousin came too. Once, my mom and my older sister came, but that was a disaster. My sister is far too posh to camp without an actual toilet.” She laughed, remembering the look on Sansa’s face when she’d realized where she was expected to relieve herself.

“We’d drive up here several times a year and spend a few nights or so sleeping under the stars and cooking over a fire. This time of year was always my favorite before I left for school, though. After that, I could only come during the summer.” She looked around the clearing, reliving their many visits over the years. “I think it was one of the few places where my father was able to truly relax, away from the pressure of work and all his obligations.”

Twining his fingers through hers, Bull tugged her closer to his side. “It sounds like this place holds a lot of memories for you.”

“It does,” she admitted and turned to face him. “And now, I want to add one last good one.” 

“Last?”

She sighed. “This is most likely going to be the last time I ever get to come up here.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Obligations?”

“Obligations,” she confirmed bitterly.

“Well then,” he said, “let’s make your final visit unforgettable.” 

Shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts, she grinned at him. “That’s the plan,” and she took off running across the field.

He caught up to her in seconds and threw her over his shoulder laughing as she squealed in delight. 

“Come on, Nym. Time to eat,” he said and carried her over to the shade of the tower where he spread out the blanket. They ate sprawled on the blanket, as she reminisced about various camping trips over the years. 

“I wasn’t allowed to come with them at first. I begged and begged starting from the age of six to come along with the boys, but my mother insisted it was no place for a lady. I told her that if I couldn’t go camping, I didn’t want to be a lady. Especially since my younger brother was allowed to go, and he was only five at the time. Every time they’d come up here, I’d tell my dad it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t come just because I was a girl. It wasn’t until I was around eight that I was finally allowed to come. I think he must have put his foot down and insisted I be included, because I remember my mom not being happy about it.”

“He sounds like a good dad,” Bull said. “It must have been nice to have him in your corner.”

“It was,” she said. “He stood up for me a lot with my mom. He’s the one who convinced her to let me go away for school when I was only thirteen. She didn’t want me to go. Thought it would only make me more rebellious. I think every time I come home she expects me to show up covered in tattoos and addicted to opium with some thirty year old unemployed boyfriend.” 

He rolled over and looked at her. “I can’t see the opium addiction or the scandalously older boyfriend, but now that I think about it, I could see you with a tattoo or two.”

“I’ve been tempted a few times,” she admitted, “but nothing ever seemed important enough. If you’re going to permanently put something on your skin, it should mean something, you know?”

“So no tattoos or drug addictions, but thirteen does seem awfully young to leave home for such a long time. I’m not surprised your mom didn’t want you to go.”

“Well, she’s not letting me go back,” she grumbled. “Honestly, though, I was shocked when she agreed, but I think my dad knew that it would be good for me. I used to feel so trapped at home with all my mother’s expectations and not living up to my sister’s example, and at school I was finally able to breathe and learn how to be me. I was terrified at first of course, to be so far away from home by myself at such a young age, but fear cuts deeper than swords, so I had to face it, and in the end it was probably the best thing my parents ever did for me.”

“Fear cuts deeper than swords?” he looked thoughtful. “That’s an interesting phrase.”

“I guess it is,” she said. “It’s something my old dancing instructor used to say all the time.”

He looked at her and quirked an eyebrow. “That’s an odd thing for a dancer to say.”

“Oh,” she laughed. “Water dancing, not dancing.” At his look of confusion, she continued. “It’s a style of Braavosi sword fighting, kind of like fencing, uses a very similar blade. It’s all about speed and balance. I’ve studied it for years. Another thing to thank my dad for.”

He sat up, looking excited. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me. Show me how to sword fight,” he insisted. “I know how to forge a sword, but I don’t know how to use one.”

Amused, Arya looked at him. He seemed so eager, that she couldn’t help smiling. “All right, then, come on.” She led him over to the edge of the clearing to look for a couple of suitable sticks. 

“First lesson,” she said facing him with her stick brandished in front of her, “stick ‘em with the pointy end.” 

He laughed. “Pointy end. Got it.”

“Second lesson is to stand side face.”

“Side face?”

“Sideways,” she explained. “Presents a smaller target.”

He watched closely as she demonstrated how a water dancer moves, slashing and twirling and ducking away from an imaginary opponent. She gave a small bow as he applauded.

“Your turn, then,” she said smiling, holding out her stick. “See if you can disarm me.”

It was less than a minute before he was on his back with her stick against his throat. “Dead,” she smirked.

“Holy shit. You’re incredible,” he said, staring up at her in wonder. She flushed and reached down to help him up, but he just pulled her down on top of him and kissed her. “That was,” he said, rolling on top of her and punctuating each word with a kiss, “the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my life.”

Hooking her leg around his, she rolled him back over and pressed his shoulders down into the ground. “Then we should probably do something about that, yeah?”

***

He had fallen asleep in the grass, his head resting on her stomach. Arya was feeling restless, but she didn’t want to wake him, sleeping as peacefully as he was. So she just lay there, under the weight of him, her fingers carding through his jet black hair. She was starting to feel it, deep in her bones, the end of this, the minutes slipping away as he slumbered, and her eyes burned with tears.

When he woke, he lifted his head to hers, and she knew her eyes were red, but he didn’t mention it, just kissed her gently and pulled her to her feet. “Tell me about the tower,” he said. “Can we climb it?”

At the top of the tower was a small stone seat where they could see over the woods for miles, not that there was much to see besides trees and a distant mountain range to the north. “I think this used to be a watchtower of sorts,” she told him, “I’m sure it has a name, but we just called it tumbledown tower. We used to pretend we were knights, defending our castle from invading dragons.”  


He laughed. “And I bet you won every time.”

“I’ll have you know that a lot of epic battles were fought here, and we were always victorious.” She smiled, remembering how Jon would lift her on his shoulders to run around in triumph. “We would argue over who got to kill the dragon, and who got the most dramatic death. It was usually my cousin, but he liked to cheat by claiming to be resurrected by a mysterious priestess or being immune to dragon fire.” She paused. “We haven’t been back for a long time, four years now. Our last visit was shortly before my older brother was married, kind of a last hurrah before everything changed,” she said wistfully.

“Things always change though, don’t they?” he said. “No matter how much we want it, they can’t stay the same, and then your life is different, forever, and you have no say in it.” He sighed, and she was filled with a rush of empathy for him and sadness for herself. Arya leaned her head against his shoulder, and felt his lips brush against the top of her head. “Obligations suck sometimes,” he whispered.

“They really do,” she agreed.

They sat, not speaking, watching the sun move slowly across the sky. “It’s getting late,” he observed. 

“A bit.”

“It’ll be too dark to see in the woods in a few hours.”

“Yep.”

“Suppose we’ll just have to stay here then.”

“What a shame.”

***

They gathered wood for a fire and found a grassy spot near the edge of the woods to spread their blankets. 

“I’d ask if you’re okay sleeping on the ground,” he said. “But at this point, it seems like a really stupid question.”

She laughed. “That was part of the reason my sister had such a fit. I’m not sure what she expected, a featherbed?”

“So no featherbed for you,” he said. “What then, sleeping bags only?”

“We usually brought tents,” she told him, “but as kids, we really liked sleeping out in the open. It seemed more like an adventure that way.” She tilted her face up slightly and closed her eyes, smiling as she remembered how every bit of the night sky seemed to sparkle with light. “Plus, the stars are incredible this far out.”

She felt him step up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” he whispered, kissing her ear. “This weekend has been-”

Arya turned around quickly and put her finger over his lips, staying his words. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Don’t. Not yet.”

Bull gazed at her sadly, but nodded. “Not yet.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Come on. I still haven’t shown you the best part.” Reaching down to grab his hand, she pulled him over to the steaming pool at the edge of the clearing. 

“What is it?”

“Hot springs,” she told him. “They’re scattered all over the Wolfswood. Little ones here and there, some big ones too, most likely connected underground. There’s a massive one right under Winterfell. When the palace was first built centuries ago, they placed it right over the hot springs, and even built some kind of heating system in the walls to keep it warm during the winters. It’s pretty ingenious considering how many centuries it’s been, and it still works fine.”

“Winterfell,” he sounded thoughtful. “Seems like a nice place.”

Arya could have kicked herself. “I suppose.” She didn’t want to think about Winterfell though. Leaning down, she pulled off one shoe, then the other. 

“What are you doing?”

She tugged her shirt over her head and dropped it to the ground. “What does it look like?” She turned to face him, holding his gaze as she shimmied out of her jeans, followed by her panties. Walking backwards into the steaming water, she grinned as his eyes roamed over her hungrily. “Are you coming or not?”

Arya laughed when he tripped in his haste to get his clothes off, but when his hands pulled her against him, he took her breath away.

***

The heated water combined with the fever he seemed to bring out in her left Arya feeling utterly relaxed and content. Bull was leaning against the edge of the pool, and she was nestled between his legs, resting against his chest and relishing the feel of his fingers trailing up and down her arms.

“You said something earlier about not going back to school,” he said. “Why aren’t you there now? This isn’t the right time of year for a break, is it?”

She sighed. She’d forgotten that she let that slip. “No. It’s not.” She was silent, considering how much to say. “Family emergency,” she finally claimed.

“So why aren’t you going back?” he asked curiously. “Does it have something to do with what you shouldn’t have done?”

“A bit. It’s...complicated.” She paused. “It’s punishment, really,” she admitted. “My mother, and my father I suppose, summoned me home, and now… Well, here I am. Not going anywhere for awhile. Not where I want to go anyway,” she adds darkly before realizing she might have said too much. “Please don’t ask,” she whispered.

He didn’t speak, just wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. There was a pressure in her chest that she knew had nothing to do with how tightly he was holding her, but she couldn’t let herself think about that. Not yet. Probably not ever.

“It’ll be sunset soon,” she observed. “You really should see it from the top of the tower.”

***

They were laying next to each other, looking up at the night sky. “You were right,” he said softly. “I’ve never seen this many stars at once. It’s unbelievable.” 

Arya turned to look at him. The night was dark, barely a sliver of the moon visible to cast light, but she could still make out his features. She moved her hand to...she didn’t know what, grasp his? Stroke his cheek? She wasn’t sure. Uncertainly, she pulled it back, but he’d sensed her movement and caught it in his. Rolling to his side, he faced her and held her gaze for several long moments before leaning in and kissing her gently.

It didn’t stay gentle for very long. They both knew their time was almost gone. He was frantic, nipping at her neck and pressing her hard into the ground. She was desperate, raking her nails down his back and pulling him impossibly closer. Together they were a frenzy of limbs and lips and hands and heat all working together to hurtle towards some inescapable release. 

***

Wrapped up naked in the blankets, they both lay on their sides facing each other, not saying anything. They just studied each other, neither speaking or moving. After what felt like hours, or maybe eternity, Bull reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Nym, I…” 

She could see the words on his lips, see them existing as solid, tangible things that could live on, forever in her orbit, trapped by the weight of him in her heart, and she nearly shattered with the ache of it.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t say it. If you say it, then it’s true and it’s real, and I’ll never not know.” If she didn’t know, then she could pretend. Pretend that she hadn’t been lying to herself for two days. Pretend for the rest of her life that she had once spent a weekend getting all of her wildness, her unruliness, her youthful behavior out of her system before growing up and that it had meant nothing. Maybe one day, she’d even believe it.

He looked at her sadly, but she knew he understood. “All right,” he whispered. “Then tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.” 

She looked at him for a full minute, debating what to say. She’d already revealed so much of herself to this man over the last few days, and she knew what he was asking of her, because she wanted the same thing. Something that was hers and hers alone, just Arya’s, not the Princess’s, not the Starks’, not the North’s, but hers. Something to lock up deep within her to carry the rest of her life, no matter where she went or what she did or who she married. Something to cherish, even if it hurt like seven hells.

But what would it cost her to bare her soul to him? 

At that moment, she decided she didn’t care. Even though she would never see him again, she wanted Bull to carry a piece of her with him forever, a secret piece she would never share again. Searching his face, she wondered what she could say to him, what part of herself could she give away without it completely destroying her.

“Sometimes, I don’t think my mother loves me very much,” she admitted, breathing shakily. “I mean, I _know_ she does, but it doesn’t always feel that way.” She paused. “My older sister, she’s perfect, you know. She’s polite and quiet and does all the things that a proper lady does, and she’s always been that way, and I’ve never been that way. I was loud and dirty and always making friends with people she considered inappropriate, and my mom, she tried to put me in this box that I just didn’t fit into. And I wanted to fit into it, gods, did I want to. I wanted to make her proud by sitting still and looking neat and being the perfect pr- daughter, but I just...couldn’t. Even now, I’m grown, and I’m perfectly capable of being a proper lady when the occasion calls for it, smiling politely and saying the right things, but I just don’t think it’s enough for her.

“She wants me to be more like her, like my sister, someone who follows the rules and keeps tradition and has nothing more to say in public than comments on the weather, but that’s just not me. Inside, I’m still the little girl with the dirty dress who doesn’t understand why she can’t go running through the woods with her brothers instead of taking etiquette lessons, who wants to use a sword instead of a needle, and doesn’t see why certain kinds of people are better or worse than others. I want to do things she doesn’t consider appropriate, like travel on my own and work and protest inequality and not-” She stopped abruptly. She’d almost blurted out _not get married to a stranger_. “I just, it feels like I’ll never be good enough for her, and if I’m not good enough for my own mother, then who am I good enough for?” 

It wasn’t until his hand reached out and wiped away a tear, that Arya realized she was crying. She’d never voiced these thoughts aloud, let alone truly admitted them to herself, and she felt empty, as if she’d been twisted up and all her insecurities and fears had been wrung out of her and onto him.

But somehow, she also felt...lighter. As if by sharing something so deeply personal with him, he’d taken some of the weight of it. Arya smiled at him. “What about you?”

His face was serious, and she could see him thinking. “I’m scared,” he said quietly. “Scared of who I am and who I have to be because I don’t have a choice. And I’m terrified that I’m going to do a terrible job. I don’t want to do it, but I have to, and it makes me angry. It makes me so very angry.” He paused. “I’m not cut out for it, and I know that. But I also know what my obligations are, so I’m going to do my damndest, even though I’ve seen what the job’s done to my father.

“Maybe he started out with good intentions, maybe he tried, but now he simply doesn’t care. He’s half drunk most of the time and pissed off the rest of the time, and no one’s got the guts to stand up to him, and I look at him and think that could be me. In thirty years, that could be me. Drunk, angry, and ridiculous with no one to tell me what I’m doing wrong.

“And now, decisions are being made. Decisions that are going to affect the rest of my life, and it doesn’t matter what I want, because it’s all about him. And he doesn’t care if it might make me or anyone else miserable because he’s finally getting what he thinks he wants.”

He looked at her sadly. “I used to wonder how he could let something that happened so very long ago affect him still, but now...now I can see, and it terrifies me.” He was silent, and Arya wasn’t sure how to respond, so she just reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

They lay there, under the stars, holding hands and just drinking one another in until they fell asleep.


	6. Monday

Arya woke to his lips on her shoulder. During the night, their bodies had shifted, and he was now wrapped around her, his chest to her back. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to leave. She reveled in him, in her Bull, the press of him against her and the gentle kisses he was peppering across her skin.

But she had to open her eyes. She had to move. She had to go back. Back to the life set before her that she never chose. She breathed in deeply and rolled over to face him. His eyes met hers, and without breaking eye contact, she pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him.

It was slow. Unlike the frenzied rush of the night before, they moved together deliberately, gently. Fingers entwined and eyes locked, it was distinctly different from any of their previous times, and she knew it was a goodbye. 

***

They’d dressed, gathered their things, and left the clearing, all without speaking, and by the time they were almost back to the car, Arya felt she would crumble from the weight of their silence. But she still did not speak. She couldn’t. She did not have the words.

When they finally broke through the woods, they both stopped. For a moment, they just stood there, neither wanting to move. Steeling herself, Arya took a deep breath and stepped toward the car. She’d gotten halfway there before she realized Bull wasn’t with her. Looking back, she saw him looking intently at something over to the side of the parking lot. Curious, she followed his gaze to see what had captured his attention. An illuminated OPEN sign hung over a glass door that read “Ink in the North.” 

She turned back to find him staring at her, a question in his eyes. Arya shifted her gaze to the tattoo parlor for several long moments, thinking. _It should mean something_. She looked back to Bull, his eyes still trained on her face, and she nodded.

***

Arya had been surprised to find two artists, both with flaming red hair, working on a Monday morning in a tattoo parlor in a tiny village in the middle of the Wolfswood, but she wasn’t complaining. It made things easier. She spoke quietly to the woman, explaining what she wanted while Bull was conversing with the tall, bearded man across the room. She watched as the artist scrolled through a laptop, periodically showing images to Bull. Eventually, he nodded at one, removed his shirt, and sat in the chair opposite hers.

Their eyes met, and neither looked away, not once. Not when his chair turned. Not when needle first met skin. Not when the buzzing of her gun finally stopped. She couldn’t because this, this meant something. It wasn’t until Arya felt, rather than saw, the woman start to apply a bandage that she finally tore her gaze from his.

“Wait,” she said softly. “I want him to see.”

The woman nodded knowingly and stepped away. “I’ll give you a minute. He should be done soon.”

Arya watched as the bearded man leaning over Bull’s bare chest sat back and nodded at him before standing and moving over to speak quietly with the redheaded woman. She looked back to find Bull’s eyes on her once again. 

Slowly, she rose out of her chair, watching as he did the same. As he moved towards her, her eyes dropped to his chest. There, just slightly to the left of his heart, was a small, black, stylized version of a Braavosi style blade, almost exactly like the one she used when Water Dancing. Her hand stretched out, almost involuntarily, to touch it before she realized what she was doing and stilled her fingers a breath away.

She raised her eyes to his and smiled. Wordlessly, she held out her arm and watched his face as he took it in. On the inside of her left wrist was a tiny outline of a bull’s head. He didn’t speak, just lifted his eyes back to hers and smiled wistfully before resting his forehead against hers for several long moments. She didn’t have the words either.

***

The drive back to Winter Town seemed to last only minutes. She’d thought an hour in silence should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. With her hand clasped in his, she relished in the quiet peace, giving herself permission to just enjoy his presence for a bit longer.

As Winterfell came into view though, the calm contentment she’d felt vanished and a terrible aching sadness washed over her. It was over, and by the end of the day her life would never truly be hers again.

Arya looked over at Bull, and she could see his jaw clenching. She gripped his hand tighter, and she watched his face relax slightly before glancing quickly at her, a sad smile on his lips. 

“Where?” he asked hoarsely.

“The park.” 

He nodded and steered the car through the streets of Winter Town until all too soon, he pulled up in front of the wrought iron gate of Stark Gardens. Neither spoke for a moment, they just sat silently, gazing at each other. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in his features and trying to burn them into her memory.

“I…” He closed his eyes. “I’m going to talk to my dad. About taking over. Tell him I don’t want it. It probably won’t change a thing, but after this...life’s too short to not say anything.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I really hope he hears you.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, opening his eyes. “Thank you for everything. You- I want you to know. You have to know. You’re- Just. You’re good enough, Nym.” His eyes were searching hers, looking for...she wasn’t sure what, but when he smiled, she thought he might have found it.

Arya wanted desperately to kiss him one last time, but she didn’t think she’d be able to stop, so instead she reached out and cupped his cheek. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She took one last long look at Bull’s deep blue eyes before wrenching her hand away and forcing herself out of the car. 

She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

***

She’d sat on the same bench, half expecting a whole battalion of guards to storm up, sirens screaming, to haul her back. In the end, it took less than twenty minutes for Jory to show up once she’d powered her phone back up.

“Your highness?” A shadow fell over her, and she stood and wordlessly followed him to the waiting car.

***

In the quiet of the back seat, Arya finally let her tears fall. At that moment, cheeks wet and throat burning, she hated herself. For accepting his help. For pulling on his shirt instead of hers. For suggesting she stay. For staying. And at that moment, she thought she must hate him a little for letting her.

Except she didn’t.

Pulling in through the gates of Winterfell, Arya could see her mother and father both standing across the courtyard waiting, and to her surprise, she felt nothing. No dread of the demanded explanations. No guilt for the coming recriminations. No regret for the panic she must have caused. She just felt...hollow.

“Arya Stark!” Her mother started as soon as she’d stepped from the car. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea what you’ve put your father and me through? What could have happened?”

She didn’t look at her mother, or her father. Just walked past them into the palace and headed towards her rooms. 

“Arya! You come back here and explain yourself-”

“Cat,” she heard her father’s voice. “Not now.”

***

When she reached her rooms, she curled up in her bed and buried herself under her covers as the tears streamed down her face. She must have fallen asleep because her father was suddenly beside her, his hand stroking her hair.

“Arya,” he crooned softly. “Sweetling, wake up.”

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and looked at her father. His face was etched with worry, and she briefly felt a small pang of guilt before the emptiness washed it away. 

“Arya, can you tell me where you’ve been?”

She shook her head.

“Can you tell me if you’re alright, at least?”

She shrugged. She couldn’t honestly say that she was.

“Arya, look at me,” her father’s voice was firm.

Arya raised her eyes and fixed them on her father’s face. She knew they were red, but she didn’t care. She wanted him to see. 

He sighed. “Arya, I’m not going to make you do anything, but you have to give me a chance to explain. Your mother…” He stopped and ran his hand over his face. “Your mother didn’t approach this properly. I told her to let me speak with you first, but… Well, you know what happened.

“Yes, King Robert and I have agreed to an alliance. If and only if the two of you agree.”

Arya’s heart gave a tiny startled flop. 

“But you have to give him a chance,” he said sternly. “I would not have agreed to this if I didn’t think you’d like him, that he could be good for you.”

Three days ago, she might have believed that, but now it just echoes through her.

“Can you promise me that you’ll try? Please? For my sake?”

Sighing heavily, she nodded at him. She has no hopes, no expectations of anything beyond disappointment that no one will ever do, but she has no choice. She will try at least.

“Thank you, Arya.” Her father leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Your mother is waiting outside. Please be civil to her.” He left her without another word, and her mother bustled in, followed by three handmaidens and her former Septa, all carrying bags, cases, and in her former Septa’s case, a massive gown of beaded tulle.

Arya could tell from her mother’s expression, that she was not pleased with her behavior, but she didn’t say anything apart from directing the handmaidens where to put things. Arya allowed herself to be bathed, styled, made up, and dressed without speaking or even really looking at any of them. It wasn’t until her mother noticed the bandage on her wrist that she even spoke directly to her. 

“Oh, Arya,” she said once she’d removed it to reveal the small tattoo beneath. “What have you done?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared blankly at her mother until she looked away, a little shamefacedly. Catelyn didn’t speak about it again, but she did rebandage the tattoo and then cover it with an elaborate silver bracelet.

“Leave us, please.” Her mother’s voice was quiet, and Arya thought she detected a slight tremor in her words. 

“Arya,” her mother sighed. “I know you don’t think it, but I do love you, and I want you to be happy. I know we don’t always agree on what that is, but your father and I are trying our best. Please, just try tonight. For him.”

Arya didn’t speak, but she nodded in resignation. Her mother stood, kissed her gently on the forehead and left Arya to her thoughts. 

She didn’t want to, but she would at least try. If only for her father’s sake, she would make an effort, but she wasn’t sure how. She’d never had trouble making friends with anyone, but this wasn’t like buddying up with the butcher’s boy or befriending the stablemaster. Despite what her father said, this was statecraft, and she’d not yet learned how to handle that. 

Besides, she did not want to give him a chance. She did not want to give anyone a chance. Not now.

But she also knew she did not have a choice. She would smile and curtsy and make pleasantries and be perfectly charming because it was her duty. Because she was Princess Arya Stark of Winterfell, and she knew how to wear a mask.

***

A knock sounds at her door. “Arya? It’s time,” her mother calls for her. She stands, but it is like moving through water. 

She trails after her parents, down the stairs, through the halls, under the archways, until at last they reach the small lounge where she is to be presented to the king of the Stormlands and his son. Her father turns to her. “Arya, just. Try. Please?” She nods minutely and readies her mask. It is only her face, yet it is still a mask. A small smile, and her eyes downcast, she follows her mother and father into the room.

She can’t focus. She vaguely registers that there are others in the room and that her father is speaking. She hears the rumble of a deep voice and sees a large, fleshy chest covered in medals and a gold and black sash. She thinks this must be King Robert. She feels a kiss pressed against her hand, and she curtsies. She says something and thinks it must have been right because no one has scolded her. 

The king turns, and there is a broad back. A man, across the room, facing away from her. Her mask is firmly in place now - reserved smile, eyes focused on his shiny black shoes. More voices, and the shoes turn.

And then.

A half-strangled whisper cuts through her, “ _Nym?”_

Her head snaps up, eyes wide and scarcely able to comprehend what she’s seeing. Standing across the room in full Stormlands regalia, looking utterly staggered, is her Bull. 

No. Not Bull. 

_Prince Gendry Baratheon._

She feels her mouth move, form the words, but she hears no sound. All she can hear is her own pulse thundering through her, as the realization of who he actually is breaks through and everything he's said over the past two days clicks into place, and a powerful kind of disbelieving joy blossoms in her heart.

And then, he is there, hands cradling her face, forehead against hers. “It’s you,” he breathes. “This whole time, it was you.”

She reaches up to cover his hands with hers and feels the tears slip down her cheek as he catches her wrist and gently presses his lips against the bandage that covers the small bull now forever imprinted on her skin before tilting her face up and covering her mouth with his.

Neither of them see the stunned looks at their embrace or hear the shocked cries when he kisses her. They don’t notice when the others shuffle awkwardly out of the room, recognizing that they are intruding on something significant, but not understanding how.

They are lost. Lost in shock and in wonder. Lost in each other.

She laughs in disbelief, and he pulls her closer. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asks, her face buried in his chest.

“Apparently not.”

"And neither of us figured it out."

"I never claimed to be smart," he says.

“You know, two days of intense sexual activity when we're both on our best behavior isn’t necessarily the best foundation for a lasting relationship.” She looks up at him, blushing.

“It was more than that,” he whispers, kissing her gently.

“I know.”

“I’m not always that easy to get along with,” he warns her.

“Neither am I."

“I'm serious. I have a terrible temper. I yell, and I hit things.”

“All right. As long as you don't mind when I yell back and keep the hitting to your forge," she tells him. 

"I can do that."

"Sometimes, I run from my problems because I don't know how to handle them.” 

“Okay. Just come back to me and let me help you face them." He grips both her hands in his before pressing his lips to them.

"I can do that."

"I’m stubborn. You're going to have a hard time making me do anything I don't want to.”

“I’m improper. I'll never be quiet and submissive.”

"Never?" He raises an eyebrow suggestively.

Her body burns, and she grins wickedly. "Well, maybe not never."

“We’ll figure it out though. Make this work, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she promises.

“I think I might love you a little bit.”

“I think I might too.”

“I’m Gendry.”

“Nice to meet you, Gendry. I’m Arya.”


	7. Stormlands Stunner!

_Stormlands Stunner!_

_In a shocking message today from Storm’s End, King Robert Baratheon has announced that the current laws of succession are being reviewed. Historically, the six kingdoms, excluding Dorne, have always followed the tradition of the firstborn male inheriting the crown, but as the release from the Stormlands says, “Male First Primogeniture has always been followed, but it is unclear as to whether it is actually required by the laws of our land. We intend to pursue this question in order to confirm that the crown is only inherited by those who truly wish to wear it.”_

_Does this announcement bode ill for Crown Prince Gendry Baratheon? Will either of his older sisters Princesses Mya and Bella or even younger brother Prince Edric end up ruling the Stormlands instead of him?_

_The Crown Prince could not be reached for comment, but a prepared statement claims that “whatever decision King Robert makes, Prince Gendry is prepared to fulfill his obligations to his family and his people. Furthermore, he is certain that whoever succeeds the king will be thoroughly capable, completely committed, and absolutely willing to rule.”_

_One cannot help but wonder if there’s more to this statement, especially considering his recent relocation to Braavos where he’s been spotted cozying up to Northern Princess Arya Stark, who has just returned to finish her final year of school at the House of Black and White. G_ _ossip in the free city alleges the two young royals are sharing an apartment near Princess Arya’s school and can often be seen canoodling around town. It's also been reported that the princess is now sporting a new ring on her left hand. While no formal engagement announcements have yet been issued by Winterfell or Storm's End, the buzz in the North is that Queen Catelyn was hoping for a grand summer wedding on scale with Princess Sansa’s extravagant nuptials from three years ago. But according to a closely placed Winterfell source, however, it seems a small, intimate gathering in the Winterfell Godswood may be planned for some time in the next year._

_Time will tell, but here’s hoping Prince Gendry and Princess Arya will live happily ever after._


End file.
